


Life is the Thing

by rispacooper



Series: in spite of all terror [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, Intoxication, Kissing, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Near Death Experience, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 12:19:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rispacooper/pseuds/rispacooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The thing is," Stiles kept telling him, obviously trying to marshal his drugged thoughts, and then he'd look at Derek, and at Derek's chest, which was already healed, and then he'd start trying to think again, and as the hours passed, he was getting better at it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life is the Thing

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a silly, porny ficlet called "Danger Boner; or How Stiles Popped Derek's Cherry" only shit got real serious, real fast. There's a lot going on in this story and I am not certain I unpacked all of it. So I should warn you that dlasta tells me it needs a sequel. 
> 
> Also I just like stories where Derek isn't a sex god. They interest me. 
> 
> Special thanks to coffeebuddha, yolandaash, messesbyyourstruly, the-unnatural-disaster, and tumblr after dark for encouraging these red wine thoughts. And dlasta, for making me be better. 
> 
> Vague spoilers for S.2
> 
> ETA: This story just got a sequel and I can't help but feel it needs one more story to close it out. Holy crap. So sorry, consider it an unfinished series.

"The thing is…." Stiles began, then stopped. He looked like he was having trouble remembering what "the thing" was so he could tell Derek about it. His eyes were wide and starry with the effects of whatever painkiller Deaton had given him over his loud objections that he wasn't an animal and he didn't need any animal painkillers.

It had been stronger than an aspirin, whatever it was, more than enough to take care of Stiles' aches and pains, enough to make Stiles' normally jerky movements slower and more deliberate, like a drunk man trying to act sober. Perversely it had had the opposite effect on Stiles' gaze; instead of taking in everything in long, careful looks Stiles' attention was now unsteady and uncertain. Whenever he closed his eyes and his long lashes swept over his cheekbones Derek held his breath, hoping that Stiles was finally calm, finally settled, but then Stiles would open his eyes again and stare at Derek before his gaze would skip away. 

Derek had taken him to the tunnels that he called home to get Stiles to calm down before he took him back to his dad's house, but it only seemed to be getting Stiles more agitated to be in the room Derek had claimed as his bedroom, not that he would leave it to let Derek sleep, no matter how much Derek snapped at him. 

"The thing is," Stiles kept telling him, obviously trying to marshal his drugged thoughts, and then he'd look at Derek, and at Derek's chest, which was already healed, and then he'd start trying to think again, and as the hours passed, he was getting better at it. 

The thing was, Derek thought to himself, that he wasn't really in the mood to humor Stiles or listen to Stiles blame everything on him. Again. He already knew tonight was his fault. It was _always_ Derek's fault, especially when Stiles was feeling indignant and mouthy, which was pretty much all the time. 

Derek's attention dropped to Stiles' mouth immediately but he quickly looked away, to the torn collar of Stiles' t-shirt and the visible line of his clavicle. Stiles was almost fully grown, Derek knew that like he knew in the next year Stiles would get used to his height and his clumsier moments would be a thing of the past. But he also knew that Stiles was still young, and he was still human, and the hint of bone underneath a thin later of pale skin reminded him of just how fragile Stiles was, as if he could have forgotten. 

Not after seeing Stiles being in pain and frightened. Pain and fear left Stiles something like quiet. It never lasted long, but Derek never missed it when it was gone. 

Well, he almost never missed it. He could have taken some quiet now instead of lying here in his bed watching a drugged and antsy Stiles bounce off the walls like a pinball. 

Just the thought made him feel old, though pinball wasn't his generation's anymore than it was Scott and Stiles'. He was tired, that was the reason. After healing like that he needed to rest and he couldn't do that with Stiles acting like this. He kept his eyes open so he could watch Stiles frown and struggle to regain his focus. 

With no warning Stiles turned again to look at him and his eyes went straight to Derek's, as if he'd known he'd catch Derek staring at him. Derek shouldn't be startled; he hadn't tried to hide anything. He hadn't taken his eyes off Stiles, not once, and even if he had he would still have been listening to rushing beat of Stiles' heart as it fought off the effects of the drugs. 

Stiles might have been more sober now, but the flush was still high along his cheekbones, dark in his cheeks. The color was almost as red as his mouth. 

Excitement did that to Stiles, and he had almost died tonight, so yet again that aroused physical response was there on his face. It was as reliable as how, when Stiles inevitably remembered "the thing", Derek knew it was going to be about tonight, and how it was all Derek's fault. 

"The thing is, Derek…." Stiles tried again, his voice leveling out, carrying more weight than before. For the first time all night Derek was tempted to turn his back on him and shut his eyes, like he was little again and didn't want to get up to go to school. He thought of his mother trying to wake him up and how her voice would start out singsong, teasing, but how easily it had sharpened into authority when he hadn’t gotten up fast enough. 

It made his voice sharp too. "You didn't die, Stiles." He pushed out the words. "Nobody died. Let it go." 

Stiles' mouth moved, like he wasn't surprised by the words yet Derek had somehow floored him anyway. "That's the thing!" He held up a hand, as if that made sense and he didn't need to explain, though Derek already knew he would. He had to explain, or Derek didn't think he could keep up. 

Stiles wet his lips and stared across at him. Derek thought about tonight too, whistling arrows and blooming pain in his chest and Stiles clumsy and stumbling into a run in front of him. He thought about it until he shivered, but he didn't pull the blankets up to cover himself. Some things were better hidden in plain sight.

"No one makes you do this," he bit out. That wasn't exactly true, but Derek hadn't forced Stiles along or asked him for anything in a long time. To do that would be to involve Scott, and Derek couldn't think about Scott without feeling something like pain, so he had stayed away, or tried to. 

Scott--and when Scott, Stiles--had a way of crossing his path anyway, usually as something large and frightening was running down it toward him. 

Derek curled his hands into the bedding and set his jaw so he wouldn't protest, again, that he hadn't involved Stiles in this. Stiles didn't seem ready to listen. He wouldn't ever be ready, Derek had a feeling. Stiles felt fear, Derek had seen it and smelt it, heard it in his screams, but he didn't seem to feel fear the way others did. Fragile or not, he kept stumbling forward. 

It made him think, randomly but not for the first time, that Stiles would have made a good werewolf. 

As if replying to that thought, Stiles gave him a fierce look, almost gold in its intensity and weight. 

" _Dude_. I can't just _not_ … Anyway there are things…" Stiles scraped his hands anxiously through his buzzed hair and continued looking at him. Even his expression held energy. "Aside from how someone has to step up with all this shit, and how you need… you need so much help." 

There was a sudden dimming of that luminous aura around Stiles and Derek became aware that he was snarling. He stopped, mostly because it was embarrassing. He couldn't and wouldn't apologize, but Stiles didn't ask him to. His mouth fell open and his already pink skin seemed to grow even rosier. His gaze locked on Derek's, shining, making him look like an apple about to fall from the tree. Derek could think a lot of things about apples, about seeds or ideas of gravity or sin, but he didn't allow himself to think anything at all. Unlike Stiles who could never stop thinking, or talking. Derek wondered if he'd missed anything while lost in his thoughts, because Stiles was still talking. "Aside from that there's this thing." 

Derek took a breath, he would swear it was a small, normal inhale, but the rush of air inside his lungs was instantly intoxicating. The taste hit his tongue a second later, indefinable and warm at first and then distinct and clear. 

He glanced down without thinking, but he already knew Stiles was hard before he saw the outline of his cock straining against his jeans. 

"The Danger Boner," Stiles named it and gestured to make sure that Derek saw it. If Stiles knew what shame was, he didn't feel it for anything regarding his body and his desires. 

Derek was staring and didn't have the excuse of being drugged. His mouth was open so the musky, pleasing flavor was on the back of his tongue and sharp enough for him to tease out every little component of the smell; frustration, loneliness, excitement. He didn't think anyone had ever touched Stiles except for Stiles, at least not like a lover. It was something Derek didn't understand most of the time because Stiles was so _available_. Other times it was only too obvious why Stiles hadn't attracted a lover yet. To someone weak and scared, Stiles would be too much, enough to break them, so they instinctively pulled away. 

Stiles didn't understand, Derek knew that from overheard conversations, but he had never told Stiles the reasons. He wasn't in the business of helping teenagers get laid and he had a feeling that a contented, satiated Stiles was something the world wasn't ready for. 

He inhaled again and held the air in his lungs along with all that emotion, and glared back in Stiles' direction. Stiles had his head up high, his throat bared. Derek realized his mouth was still open to taste him and shut it. He frowned.

"Danger boner," he repeated, as flatly as he could. 

"This. All this stuff." Stiles wasn't waving around the room as much as he was waving at Derek. And watching him, his eyes leaning toward gold more than brown again. "It makes me…." He stopped to think or to lick his lips and Derek focused once again on that mouth. It was difficult to look back up. Stiles had no shame at all. "It gets me hard." 

Derek couldn't breathe and kept his eyes up with effort. "Danger boner," he said again, hoping there was scorn in his voice. "When you almost got _shot_." It wasn't scorn. It was _fury_. Stiles practically moaned when he heard it. 

"Yeah." He shook his head as if he weren't turned on and drenched in longing. "No. When you took that arrow for me…." His heart rate doubled on the words. Then he shook his head again. "I don't want to die."

"Okay," Derek agreed with a dry mouth. Stiles' gaze stayed fixed on him, puzzled but demanding. 

"I don't want to die. I just like… I want…." He had to obviously struggle to articulate his thoughts and what little he got out was more than enough. The blood was loud in Derek's ears. He raised his voice to make sure that Stiles heard him. 

"You're drugged, Stiles."

"Do you realize you aren't even telling me no?" Instead of cowering, Stiles stepped closer. For a moment Derek wanted to retreat. If he'd been on his feet he might have stepped back. But he wasn't moving. Instinct wouldn't let him. He was still nominally an alpha, his body demanded he act like one. But he knew he was less than the way he had to fight not to flee when Stiles started to drift toward him. 

"I don't want to die," Stiles repeated, saying the words with care, as if Derek was going to peel away layers to find the real meaning. Derek thought about Christmas like he hadn't in years, and presents to be unwrapped and glared at Stiles. Because it was Stiles' fault that Derek had thought of that, the happy memory and the way it had all ended. 

Derek curled his hands into his blankets and wished for claws if it meant he wouldn't have to respond to what Stiles was saying. He hated words. Actions had always made more sense to him, even when they were wrong. 

Peter would know how to answer. Maybe not the Uncle Peter Derek had grown up knowing, but the Peter now. He'd put a hand to the back of Stiles' head and pull him forward to the bed and take him. He'd use it to bond Stiles more into the pack, because Stiles was more loyal than most of the werewolves Derek knew. Peter wouldn't be good for Stiles, but he'd be good to him, for a while. Until he destroyed him. 

But he would be strong. He wouldn't let Stiles control him or make him feel weak. He would bite into Stiles' neck and make sure Stiles was the one helpless and angry. 

It was a good, anchoring thought, enough to keep Derek from changing or moving, enough to make him growl and long for Peter's blood. But the sound made Stiles inhale sharply as he reached the bed, just as his knees hit the edge of the mattress. 

"Derek." Stiles' eyes were too bright. Derek's hands were still gripping his blankets but he couldn't be sure that Stiles noticed and he couldn't look to tell. He glanced away from Stiles' familiar, thoughtful gaze and found himself staring at Stiles' erection. "Derek." Stiles called his attention back up. He looked sober and serious, even if he wasn't. "I don't want to die."

The idea made Derek growl again. He wasn't sure he'd ever stopped. 

But the growling made it worse, that living warm scent coming from Stiles, the hot look Stiles was giving him. He needed to stop, but the growling meant anger, control. Trust Stiles to have found this out without ever meaning to. He didn't even understand; he was too young, too innocent no matter how much porn he watched or how many Alphas he encountered. 

"You don’t want me, Stiles." It was a lie. Derek had smelled it on Stiles before, along with rushes of hormones and sex scents for almost everyone else. It didn't mean anything except that Stiles was horny and lonely. It was almost a constant, like Stiles running his mouth or getting into trouble, usually both at the same time. Just like now, though now Stiles had another motivation. 

He shouldn't put himself in danger to feel this. He shouldn't put himself at risk for sex. It was an easy thing to do as a teenager. A stupid, easy thing and there was no taking it back. No matter how much you denied yourself later, there was no taking it back. 

Derek heard his growl get louder and felt his hands pull and burn as they changed. His fingernails were sharper in his blankets, ready to tear, and then he blinked, shocked, unable to breathe when Stiles saw that and murmured, "Don't kill me," and touched him anyway. 

Stiles took one shaky breath and then his hand was resting on Derek's stomach, just for a second, because decision made, Stiles wouldn't hesitate. His fingertips almost immediately moved on, venturing under Derek's t-shirt, skimming over his navel before pressing in. He slid his hands up, not seeming to notice or care that Derek's eyes closed, that Derek's growl was breaking up. He just touched, gliding bold touches higher and higher and taking Derek's shirt with him. 

"I can feel your heart beating," he breathed out in wonder, like he'd doubted Derek had had a heart. Derek clenched his jaw. 

"Stiles." He panted. He didn't want to remember the last time someone touched him like this, the only time anyone had ever touched him like this. Not when he could still feel waves of shame and fear. He opened his eyes to glare at Stiles' wide open mouth, burning all over now though not angry enough to completely hold on. 

The blankets tore, shredded under claws, but Stiles wouldn't stop. He was listening to Derek's heart, feeling it the way Derek could hear Stiles' heart pounding and the echoing throb of his dick. 

He almost closed his eyes, aware that he wasn't moving, that his growls had dropped off to something low and pathetic. He was as weak as he always had been. All he could think was that if he spread his legs this ache would go away. 

"You haven't killed me yet?" Stiles made it into a question. Derek lifted his head to look right into Stiles eyes. The growl returned with a vengeance. 

"Not killing you doesn't equal consent, Stiles." He wanted to bite. He wanted to taste blood and fear. He wanted Stiles to know that he did. Stiles moved his fingers over Derek's ribs, as if he was trying to feel where the arrow had been. There would never be any better proof that Derek wasn't going to hurt him. But if Stiles was in it for the danger than he shouldn't want that, the promise of safety. He should want Peter, or someone like him, mad and dangerous. Not Derek, who was too scared to touch him even to throw him off. 

"Consent does though," Stiles argued with a stoned sort of certainty and curled his hands so Derek could feel the faint edge of fingernails in his skin. Derek tried to bring the anger back by thinking of Stiles using him to scratch an itch, all the while watching Stiles' expression as he put his hand over Derek's heart to feel it racing. "This makes me almost like a werewolf." Stiles turned wide, amazed eyes on him, and tilted his head up to a cocky angle. "I could tell if you lie, or if you like this. If you want to…."

Derek's teeth came out on their own. "I haven't given you any consent," he snarled as if Stiles weren't almost on top of him. 

"You want mine first?" Stiles looked surprised but Derek knew it wasn't a guileless offer, not with Stiles mapping out his heartbeat. He was as greedy for it as Derek had been for his. But he paused, if only to frown a little. "I've never done this before, so I don't really know the protocol… but yeah, you can." 

Derek shifted underneath his hand, pushing up into the pressure without thinking. But he shook his head. 

"I'm not going to fuck you, Stiles." It was too harsh, too much, and the way Stiles reared back was his fault too. The words came out despite what he wanted but they made Stiles' heart beat normally, fast-happy and steady. "You're drugged." 

"Oh my God," Stiles exclaimed. Derek couldn't tell what it meant this time, if it was disappointment or surprise. He only realized it was arousal when Stiles clawed at his chest again, digging in toward his heart before he stopped himself. The scent was stronger. Stiles' mouth was open, his breathing loud. Stiles was aroused by that. It wasn't danger, but that was still there too, and that was all Derek could think; the thing to help him control himself was the thing pushing Stiles over the edge. He would hurt Stiles if they continued. That was what he did, he hurt the people around him. He couldn't blame them for hurting him in return. 

"You're afraid of me," Derek tried to remind Stiles. The thought would keep him angry, but that didn't stop him from flushing when Stiles flattened his hands out and slid one down to the waist of his jeans. 

He slapped a hand around Stiles' wrist and wished his hold was tighter. It would have been before. 

Instead of looking terrified or horny, Stiles looked _insulted_. "Dude, yeah I'm afraid of you a little. You're a werewolf." He tugged on Derek's hold and scowled at him without pulling himself free. His other hand stayed flat on Derek's stomach. His eyes went everywhere and then came back to Derek's face. They were still too bright. "You also keep saving me," Stiles added in a quieter voice. "And Scott sometimes."

His other hand trailed along the edge of Derek's jeans only to stop when Derek opened his mouth to drag in a breath. 

"Stiles." It wasn't a growl and he panicked, his claws digging through the blankets into the mattress. Stiles went still, just for a moment, and then he repeated the motion, letting his fingers glide over Derek's fly this time. Derek tightened his grip on his wrist and looked up, desperate. 

"You like this?" Stiles asked slowly, as if he was actually surprised. "You like _me_ ," he seemed to realize right in that moment, which was fucking stupid for someone doing what he was doing, and Derek would tell him when he could think more like a man. 

Stiles' little human claws scraped against his skin again and Derek pressed himself into it. He wanted to shut his eyes. Stiles' gaze was steady on him now, slightly pissed. "You never said." 

"It turns you on to be afraid of me." Derek could rip through Stiles' skin. He could rip through Stiles' bones with only a little more effort. "I'm not a toy. This isn't a game. I'm not here to be used." His voice cracked at the end, more of the wolf slipping out. 

Stiles only blinked at him, as if he didn't understand Derek's objections at all. 

"It turns me on to be alive." Stiles' expression was wary and he kept his gaze on Derek's face even while he twisted his hand to rub his palm into Derek's cock. He had no shame and possibly no fear, though he was quiet for a few moments, seeming at a loss for words when Derek's hips came up from the bed to push into his hand. He was breathing heavily, both of them were. Derek's blood was pounding against Stiles' hands. Stiles was rich with his own. "I like being alive. When you're alive you can do this," Stiles explained like Derek was dense, though he had to gasp for air between the words. The sound made Derek's balls tighten, made his cock jump and leak, though Stiles couldn’t feel that much.

"Aren't you glad to be alive?" Stiles kept wetting his mouth and glancing down and if Derek weren't afraid of what he might do with Stiles' mouth on his dick, he might have opened his jeans and let Stiles have his way. 

"Stiles." The one word warning was all Derek could manage. He was repeating himself but if Stiles noticed, he didn't seem to care. He made a rough sound and shifted closer. The scent of him covered Derek's head like water, like smoke, and the thought made his muscles tense, made him grunt furiously and pull Stiles' hand up away from his cock. It ended up back over his heart. Stiles' expression was pleased and slow and furious. 

His breath was hot and wet on Derek skin, like the little moans he let slip when Derek wouldn’t look away. Those moans could have filled the room even without the throb of their blood or the caught, torn sounds escaping from Derek's throat as Stiles petted him. Stiles kept looking at him, making his heart race, _feeling_ his heart race, then clawing at it with blunt, painful fingernails only to soothe the pain away in the next second. 

Stiles was still drugged, Derek told himself, and burned wherever Stiles touched him. He should have taken Stiles' pain away himself. If he hadn't been so afraid, he would have. 

"I can't let you do this." 

"I don't see you stopping me, bitch." Stiles enunciated that last word loud and clear, with his gaze gleaming and his chin up. Derek could bite his neck, easily. He could reach up and pull Stiles down and slide into him the way someone else would have. He could have not cared that Stiles was young, or drugged, or breakable. They both know he could. That he wanted to. Stiles could read it in Derek's heart beat. He started to breathe faster. 

"Do it," Stiles dared him recklessly, as if Derek wanted him to play around with his life. 

The anger was almost calming. Derek glared but kept most of his words inside. "I don't…." 

Stiles kept leaning in until Derek couldn't breathe without tasting him. He let his lips part and Stiles watched like he wanted to put his fingers in Derek's mouth, or just his tongue, or something else. Derek didn't know the taste of cock, had never let himself learn it, but he thought that alone might kill him if Stiles tried. 

"Don't what?" Stiles' every word scratched down his spine. "Don't want me?"

Derek couldn’t form words, the fury was there but it was too weak for him to do more than growl. He was painfully aware of his hard cock and the claws and teeth there for Stiles to see, the inhuman shape to his face. 

Stiles shouldn't be doing this to him. It made him a teenager again and he hated that too. It led to this, need and shame and weakness. He snapped, letting Stiles see his fangs. 

"I don't know how." 

Stiles' reaction to his confession was immediate. He froze, his mouth open in shock as the words sank in. Derek forced himself to keep looking at him, readying himself for the rise of anger that would let him push Stiles away without hurling him across the room and keep him from changing. 

Stiles made a sound like someone had hit him in the stomach. There were thoughts in his eyes that he didn't share, things that made him stop breathing and then start again with a noisy gasp. And then he moved, sliding onto the bed and on top of Derek as if taking his time to do it would have been a crime. 

Derek went still, startled by the new sound of their heartbeats so close together and the heat and weight of Stiles' lean body. He wasn't heavy, not to Derek, but he weighed enough for Derek to feel it. Derek wanted to touch him but kept his hands down until Stiles ground down into him once and blushed hotly all through his skin. 

Derek's hands weren’t completely hands but he lifted them to Stiles' back and pushed them beneath Stiles' shirt. He could feel spots that would become bruises and growled for them and for the answering spike in Stiles' pulse. 

"That makes two of us," Stiles hiccuped and bent down to put their faces together, not kissing him, not even when Derek's lips parted. It wasn't a kiss at all, and Derek felt stupid for opening his mouth when Stiles was still _talking_. 

"Teeth. Fuck," Stiles whispered, pushing and wanting in his every breath and holding back. Derek was halfway changed, Stiles should have been frightened. But the idiot was thinking and talking to himself, "I could… Yes…" while pressing strange, off-center kisses to the side of Derek's mouth. He paused and then licked at Derek's lower lip, and when Derek didn't move, he paused again before grinding his hips down against Derek's cock in a halting, frustrating circle.

Stiles was rolling into him, almost catching a rhythm before starting again and Derek couldn’t think to push him toward one. He put a hand to the back of Stiles' head and slid his other hand through Stiles' buzzed hair and growled against his mouth, growled for this not-kiss and the way Stiles kept inching his legs apart with impatient little jerks and pushing down on Derek's trapped cock. He wanted to be fucked. He was drenched in the scent of _want_ but he kept one hand at Derek's chest and held it tight when Derek bit at him and pushed up. 

Stiles should be careful. Derek held onto the thread of anger the thought gave him, it left him in control enough not to drag Stiles down, though it did nothing for the heat in his spine and the sticky need to thrust into Stiles' body, to split it in half. He wanted… he wanted things he shouldn't have, that he couldn’t be trusted with. Stiles should know that. He shouldn't be rocking his body on top of Derek's and demanding more. Derek placed his hands at the small of Stiles' back and urged him down as he brought his hips up. 

It felt good, like a jolt of electricity but not like pain at all. Derek clenched his jaw so the sounds wouldn't escape but Stiles moaned above him. 

"Fuck you, 'don’t know how'. Like I do…" he mumbled, slow and fast, then dropped his head to draw in whatever air he could find.

The small of Stiles' back was soft. Derek could feel the bumps of his spine and spread a hand out there, somehow still surprised when Stiles pushed back into that, as if Derek was going to tear his jeans away right that moment and fuck him, despite what he'd said. 

"I'm not going to fuck you, Stiles," he told him again, almost whining because he wanted to, and Stiles wanted him to, and there was every reason not to. The rough chafe of his jeans was a welcome distraction, like thinking of how when this was over and Stiles remembered who and what Derek was, he was going to be grateful Derek had had restraint. 

He didn't seem grateful. He seemed annoyed and horny and he smelled of both things in a way that made Derek turn his head to inhale more. His lips collided with Stiles' skin and he opened his mouth to kiss it. Stiles groaned, the sound sweet enough to make Derek's anger slip away from him. 

He should not be lulled into this by a human again, Derek thought quickly, but he wanted to roll Stiles over and press into him, not push his hips up and fight back a moan when Stiles shoved a hand between them to paw at their zippers. Stiles was so hungry for it, or at least for the thrill of being with him. 

"You." Derek had to concentrate to speak human words. "You shouldn't." There were more growls building up in him, and as if he knew that, Stiles moved his mouth to his throat, just over Derek's Adam's apple. He exhaled over the skin when Derek lifted his chin and then dropped his head to let Derek feel his lips. They stayed there for a moment, and then Stiles opened his mouth to suck at the skin. He talked to himself in between each dragging, hot kiss to that same spot. 

"Okay," Stiles whispered, careful with his teeth when he didn't have to be and Derek realized Stiles wasn't talking to himself, he was talking to _Derek_. "Okay?" Derek couldn’t tell who Stiles wanted the reassurance for. He thought, briefly, that if Stiles was turned on by danger than he should be braver, try more, but Stiles just sucked on his throat and let his teeth slip out as his worked Derek's zipper down. 

He put one hand on Derek's cock and made a startled loud noise before taking his hand away to rip open his pants and touch himself. A second later his hand was back on Derek and squeezing tight. 

It wasn't Derek's hand; that was all Derek could think until Stiles pulled back to look at him. "Sorry, but this is like...."

"Stiles." Derek dug his fingers, his claws, into thin layers of skin and pulled Stiles' head up so that he could get their mouths together. Stiles moaned into it, his mouth wide open, his breath coming fast. His hand flailed, trying to stroke them both at the same time, but then he seemed to give up and just pushed his thumb under the head of Derek's cock. He whined at the flood of pre-come and Derek's small hiss. 

Derek was shaking, pushing up into the warmth of Stiles' body. He couldn't fuck him. Not like this. Not with everything new and bright and sharp. Stiles was drugged and young and innocent. Derek should stop. "I can't…." 

"Okay," Stiles breathed into his skin, his hands tightening before they slowed. He eased up, pulling away to stare down at Derek. Derek could hear his heartbeat, but it was almost indistinguishable from his, wild with lust and fear. Danger, Derek thought, but he was just as hard. 

"Let me just...." Stiles started, and then looked at him as he brought one hand up to his mouth. The scent of his spit was more intoxicating than the sight of it dribbling from his lower lip or how he licked it up before wrapping his hand around Derek's cock. 

Derek shut his eyes. He was weak and he knew it, he was a quivering failure, but Stiles was firming his grip and trying to get comfortable and stroking his dick and Derek couldn’t help wanting to push up into it. 

He didn't think that was what Stiles wanted, a scared werewolf panting for him, but Stiles was still talking, spilling heavy words over him in a husky voice, "Like this? Yeah, like this. Just… Derek… Look at me? Please?" 

Derek opened his eyes and found Stiles' gaze right on his, starry for an entirely new reason. His lips were rosy and bitten by Derek's teeth, his flush was real. Derek reached up to grab him by the torn collar of his shirt and pulled him down so he could feel Stiles' heart against his hand. 

The angle changed, taking Stiles' rhythm with it, but Stiles just moved his thumb to work it under the head in a way that he must like when he touched himself and which seemed to arouse him even more now. Derek tasted it on his tongue and left his mouth open. He thought he had fangs because he wanted to bite and bite hard, but couldn’t tell, couldn't be sure of anything but the weight of Stiles holding him down and Stiles urging him to come in this aroused, helpless voice.

"Come okay? Just come. I want to make you." 

He shouldn't, not with so much of the wolf in him already out, but Derek twisted his hand into Stiles shirt and it brought Stiles and his scent and his need closer and he was still thrusting up into every determined stroke. He wasn't holding back the sounds anymore, and every small grunt made Stiles light up. 

"Derek," he just kept saying it and touching him, until Derek was shaking and arching up and giving Stiles what he wanted. 

He stopped breathing as he came and sucked in air when he was spent. Come and pre-come and sweat were on his tongue, his more than Stiles' though he could pick out Stiles' desires easily now. He couldn't look at Stiles and risk seeing his disappointment at what the dangerous werewolf sex he'd thought he'd be having had turned into. 

"Wow. That wasn't what I thought at all," Stiles echoed his thought in an unsteady voice and fell forward on top of him when Derek pulled his hands away. Stiles was heavier than before, glued to him with come and still hard. Derek held back a confused whine when Stiles slid up into a better position and started to slowly rub himself against Derek's body. 

His mouth sought out Derek's even when Derek turned his head and then Stiles was bumping his nose into his cheek. "Never felt like this," Stiles exhaled, off-balance and clumsy as he tried to keep himself up and Derek put his hands to Stiles' hips to hold him.

He needed Stiles to explain, again. He always did. But he tried to keep his voice flat, to sound uninterested as if he had done all of this before, as if anyone had ever thought him good at it or stayed like this with him afterward, like he didn't want to let Derek go. 

"Like what?" 

Stiles snorted against his cheek and took a hand away from the bed to slide it between their bodies. Derek realized he was holding Stiles up at the same moment he realized that his hands were hands and not paws and that Stiles was smashing their faces together in an attempt to kiss him. 

Stiles didn't answer, but his pulse spoke for him, thrilling and lively under Derek's fingertips. Derek dug his fingers into his skin and felt the solid lines of bones as he dragged Stiles down on top of him. 

Stiles instantly shifted upward to try another kiss, this one hurried, desperate. His teeth pressed into Derek's bottom lip until Derek pushed up to meet him. In seconds Stiles was squirming over him, already ready to come. He slid his mouth away enough to breathe and Derek licked up the lingering flavor of his spit. Stiles watched him with shining eyes and then darted out his tongue to lick Derek's mouth too. 

Derek growled at him. But though Stiles gave a pleased shudder, he didn't speak. It was Derek who pulled Stiles to him and who exhaled against his neck.

"Don't kill me." Derek wasn't young and he wasn't drugged and he wasn't innocent, but he shivered and shut his eyes when Stiles answered him in a confused, breathless voice.

"Like that could even…" he murmured, his heart loud as he tried to get off, the beat skipping when Derek carefully put a hand on his cock to help him. Stiles shut up, just giving a strangled, grateful groan and grabbing painfully at Derek's arms like he wanted to keep his control too. 

But one stroke and Stiles was tensing up and coming, jerking with the force of it and still sliding his cock into the mess he'd just made on Derek's stomach. His mouth was moving, shaping words that probably didn't even make sense to Stiles. 

"The thing is this," Stiles whispered, his mind trying to fight off the effects of his orgasm already. "The thing is _you_ ," he bit out, and then sighed and sagged against him. Derek still couldn’t seem to breathe. But he put his sticky hand back to the bed and frowned and wondered if he should do something else, or if the messy, contented motions as Stiles settled against him meant he shouldn't do anything. 

"Stiles," he tried, not wanting to think about tomorrow, or even later tonight, and blinked in confusion when Stiles told him to shut up and then huffed into his skin, a tired little sigh. He seemed to weigh nothing at all, and yet Derek couldn't move.

After another few moments, Derek let his other hand come up to curl around the back of Stiles' head. He waited until Stiles' heartbeat was too slow for him to be awake anymore. Then he let out a breath. "I don't want you to die either."


End file.
